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They had given her an address for the house, telling her to just “move right in,” that they would take care of the details later. She was terrified that she didn’t yet know what the rent was, but the housing arrangement hadn’t sounded optional, so she’d just gone with it.
She had saved what little cell battery she had so that she could use the GPS to find the place. But when she turned her phone on, she realized she had no signal. How is that even possible? So the whole island is cellphoneless? Might make classroom management easier.
She hated to stop, but she didn’t see any other options. She had already driven away from the ferry station by the time she realized her predicament, which was too bad, as that was the logical place to ask for directions. Instead, she stopped in front of Marget’s Grocery.
This is the smallest grocery store I’ve ever seen, she realized, stepping inside. A small bell sounded over her head. How quaint. The woman running the only register looked up at her and smiled. The man checking out stared at her and didn’t smile. She thought maybe she ought to buy something. She’d arrived at her new home with very little food. She grabbed a cart and started to explore. But the bananas were ninety-nine cents per pound. The milk, seven dollars per gallon. She had been excited when they had quoted her the salary offer—the lowest salary allowed by law, which was still almost twice what she had been making with all her pretend-teaching gigs. But now she panicked at the thought of how much it would cost her to eat. And so, when she approached the checkout, her cart only held one half-gallon of milk, three bananas, and a large box of Ramen.
“Good morning,” the cashier said. Her nametag said Marget. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before?”
“I’m Emily.” She smiled, honestly pleased with the friendly reception.
“Hi, Emily!” Marget said. “You wouldn’t be the new English teacher would you?”
Emily’s jaw dropped.
Marget chuckled. “Don’t be alarmed. I knew we were getting a new English teacher, and someone had said you were young. We don’t get many new people around here, so I just put two and two together. That’ll be $12.85.”
Still feeling a smidge stunned, Emily rummaged in her purse for the money. She handed her a twenty.
Marget counted back her change and then said, “Welcome to the island.”
This reminded Emily of why she had stopped at the store in the first place. “Could you give me directions? I’m looking for Songbird Lane.”
“Oh, of course. You just want to follow this road,” she said, pointing to the direction Emily had been going, away from the ferry terminal, “for about four miles. There will be a boatyard, and I think Songbird is the second turn after that, maybe the third, on your right. But don’t worry, you can’t get lost. There’s really only one road, and it just loops around the island.”
“Thank you,” Emily said, taking her bags. “I’m sure I’ll find it.” But she wasn’t sure at all. She was a bundle of nerves and hated herself for it.
Even though she slowed to a crawl at Murray’s Boatyard, she still drove by Songbird Lane. She put the car in reverse and backed up the empty road. Then she turned right.
Songbird Lane was a narrow dirt drive with grass growing in the middle. She was looking for 5 Songbird Lane, so she figured it would be coming up soon, but as she rolled along the dirt path, she realized she was wrong. It felt like miles before she went by the first sign of civilization—a trailer on her right. A pickup and a four-wheeler sat in the driveway. Two tricycles and what looked like seventy thousand lobster traps decorated the lawn.
A quarter of a mile beyond that she drove by a funny-shaped, dilapidated house on her left. It looked like something designed by stoners and also appeared to be abandoned, but then as she drove by, she noticed a dog tied to the porch. She drove a half mile, only scraping the bottom of her car on one boulder, and then a cute, tiny A-frame came into sight. She didn’t think this was hers, but as she got closer, she saw a wooden “5” nailed next to the door.
This is it. The driveway was barely long enough to pull her Corolla into. She turned off the engine and looked around. No neighbors in sight. The road narrowed to almost nothing past her driveway. This was truly the end of the line. She got out of the car and approached the house with some wariness, suddenly overcome with the desire to adopt a dog. A big dog. She wondered if the island had an animal shelter.
They’d told her they would leave it unlocked, the key on the kitchen table. The doorknob turned easily, but the door stuck. Probably just the moisture in the air. She lowered her shoulder and pushed, and it gave way.
Once she stepped inside, she felt better because the house was cute. Straight ahead was a cozy living room, complete with woodstove, couch, and cushioned armchair. No TV, which was fine by her. To her right, the kitchen, complete with range, fridge, a counter that ran between the two, and a table with four chairs. She had no idea who would sit there, but just in case, she had the room. A door stood open at the far side of the living room. She walked through it, into the world’s smallest bathroom.
A spiral staircase led to the loft, which held a full-sized bed and a dresser. She loved it. She loved it so much that her rent panic skyrocketed. No need to get attached if this wasn’t meant to be. She found the keys on the kitchen table as promised, atop a single piece of paper that read:
Welcome to the island, Emily! If this space will work for you, you are welcome to stay here for as long as you are serving in our school. We just ask you to keep it in good shape! Best, Lauren P.S. If you need anything, call me at 555-4314.
No way. Did this mean rent-free? She put the paper down and looked around. It was too good to be true. She loved this place! Now I can afford to buy groceries!
She felt like dancing. Instead, she opened the windows and began carrying her few bags inside. They had told her fully furnished, so she didn’t have much stuff, and it didn’t take her long. Then she stood in the middle of her new living room, wondering just how she could call Lauren, or anyone for that matter, with no cell service. She wandered back into the kitchen and noticed an actual landline phone on the wall next to the fridge. She hadn’t seen one of those in years. She picked it up. Sure enough, a dial tone. She looked at it. A number was written on it: 555-5774. Apparently, she had a new phone number.
New number. New home. New job. New everything. All she needed was the dog.
